The Imperfect Love Series Part One
by Devon May
Summary: Harry is lonely, and Draco is there. Slash. Chapter One of Part One of a three part series.


This is a three part series, and each part will be about fifteen chapters long, so it'll be a bit of an epic tale once it's finished. This is Chapter One of Part One.  
  
Series Title: Imperfect Love

Title of Part One: Exploration and Discovery – Chapter One

Author: Devon May

Rating: PG-13 – Will be R later on

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise

Pairing: Harry/Draco – Slash

Summary: Harry is lonely, and Draco is there.  
  
Harry sat on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, feet not quite touching the floor. He leaned back with his arms supporting him from behind, ignoring the aches in his body. Drawing a deep breath, he gazed out of the window to a view of a rich green field bathed in moonlight. It was fake, of course, as he was in a building in the middle of muggle London, but it was nice to focus his attention on something else for a while, even if it was just a glamour.  
  
If he wasn't already depressed, this room would have done it. It was as small as a storage cupboard, with glaringly white walls and a single bed with a rough mattress and scratchy sheets. He had been told to lie down and rest, but there was no way he would be comfortable in this bed.  
  
He supposed he shouldn't complain. There weren't many private rooms on offer at St. Mungo's, and today, with the hospital full to the brim with war casualties, there were even less available. And although his injuries were small compared to most of the others, he had been given this room ahead of needier patients. Because he was their hero. And heroes deserved the best, even if that meant disconcerting white walls and a scratchy bed.  
  
It was strange that he was contemplating the décor of this room when half an hour ago he had been in the centre of a battle, fighting to save the world. It was surprising how easy Harry had managed to switch his mind off, but he supposed it had something to do with the potion he had just been fed.  
  
A time like this should be for reflection, Harry told himself. For unraveling the mysteries of war with inspired, philosophical thoughts. To find the meanings for everything that had happened - why he was alive, why he had survived. But Harry had never been a great thinker, and the potion was numbing his brain somewhat. Harry had always been an 'Act first, think later' type of person. In fact, it was more along the lines of 'Act first, get Hermione to think later'. So it wasn't surprising that now, after he had acted, he was having trouble with the thinking part.  
  
Harry found that he didn't care all that much. He knew that everything that had happened tonight would come back to haunt him. He would see it in his dreams for many years to come, and his fame would never let him truly forget. But right now, with his mind in this relaxed state, Harry was more inclined to study the crack on the window pane and wonder how often the panoramic glamour was changed.  
  
The silence washed over Harry, and he was glad that the room had a Silencing Charm placed on it, otherwise he would have been subjected to the noises associated with a wizarding hospital suffering from wall to wall battle victims. Despite the potion numbing his senses and calming his mind, his emotions were still playing havoc with him. He didn't think about the battle, about the people that had died or about the people he had killed. But he could _feel_ it. Despair pulled at his heart, and his soul was full of postponed horror. He kept it at bay, though. If he allowed it to overwhelm him, he really would start thinking, and that could only lead to bad things.  
  
And so he sat on the hard mattress, not thinking, but feeling. As he admired the way the fake moon cast shadows across the fake grass, creating indistinguishable, yet fascinating shapes, the door to his private room opened.  
  
Hustle and bustle sounds entered the room and then were sharply cut off as the door was closed again. Harry looked over, expecting to find a Medi- Witch or a Healer, instead finding Draco Malfoy standing in front of the door, a piece of gauze covering one cheek. His hair was no longer sleek and shiny, but matted with dirt and blood, just as Harry knew his own was, and the familiar sneering expression had given way to passive exhaustion.  
  
His eyes flickered over the expanse of the room, as if examining the conditions, before looking at Harry, who was waiting patiently. There was no malice in his eyes, but that was probably due to the fact that he was so tired, he couldn't be bothered to rustle up any degree of hate. He had spent it all on the battlefield that evening. He opened his mouth and Harry wondered if some half-arsed sarcasm was coming his way, as per the usual Malfoy mannerism.  
  
'Potter,' he said by way of greeting.  
  
'Malfoy,' Harry replied.  
  
Malfoy cleared his throat and said in a voice that was slightly hoarse, 'The Healer told me to find somewhere quiet to sit.'  
  
Harry blinked in reply. Malfoy seemed to take that for acquiescence because he gave a curt nod and sat himself down in the chair next to the door, stretching out his legs with a sigh. His robes, like Harry's, were filthy. Harry didn't know how much blood was on them, as they were black, and Harry found it strange that he was dressed almost identical to him, considering Malfoy's robes were standard Death Eater issue. For a reason that Harry couldn't quite pin down, he found that thought uncomfortable. At least Malfoy was no longer wearing his mask; that would have been too much right now.  
  
Harry knew he was staring, but he didn't particularly care. Malfoy had noticed, though, and he looked up. He seemed to think the attention had something to do with invading Harry's personal space because he shrugged one shoulder and said, 'This was the only room I could find that didn't have someone bleeding in it.'  
  
Harry winced, looking away. He didn't want to be reminded of that. Not yet. There would be time later to mourn the dead, to feel the guilt he knew was waiting for him round the corner, for the anguish to settle on his shoulders. He went back to staring out of the window, no longer seeing it. He had found that with a combination of the potion and solitary confinement, he had managed to block the battle out of his head. But Malfoy being in the room, talking about the victims so bluntly, made it seem a much harder thing to do.  
  
From what seemed like a very long way away, Harry heard Malfoy speak again.  
  
'I was just out front. They're already setting up camp. Settling in for a long night, it seems.'  
  
Harry looked at him, confused. 'Who are?'  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. 'The press, of course. Who d'you think? Your fan club?'  
  
'Er –'  
  
Malfoy smirked. 'They were here earlier, but they've been sent away.'  
  
Thank god, thought Harry. 'How many?'  
  
Malfoy snorted. 'Like I'm going to waste my time counting a load of twittering –'  
  
'The press, Malfoy,' said Harry in slight exasperation. 'How many reporters are there?'  
  
Malfoy looked at him grumpily. 'I don't bloody know. All of them, probably.'  
  
Harry groaned inwardly. 'What do they want?'  
  
Malfoy gave him a sideways look, his expression derisive. 'Don't ask stupid questions, Potter.'  
  
Harry wanted to glare, but found that he couldn't be bothered.  
  
'They've had some statements already,' continued Malfoy. 'Dumbledore, Fudge -'  
  
'They've got what they want, then.'  
  
Malfoy snorted again. 'Hardly. It'll be the Boy Wonder headlining tomorrow's papers.'  
  
'What do they want to talk to me for?' Harry said in frustration, not realising that he had automatically connected 'Boy Wonder' with himself. 'What the bloody hell is there to say?'  
  
'Oh, I don't know,' Malfoy drawled, looking at Harry as if he were an idiot. 'Maybe something to do with saving the world by destroying the most powerful wizard in existence. But that's just a guess, of course.'  
  
Harry blinked. It was most unlike Malfoy to acknowledge Harry's hero status, and Harry didn't like it. He was used to it from most other people, but Malfoy had always been dependably scornful in that department. Harry would liked to have pointed that out, but instead he found himself saying, 'Dumbledore's more powerful.'  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, as if Harry was being deliberately ignorant. 'Dumbledore's past it,' he said dismissively.  
  
Harry felt a sudden burst of anger - a small degree of his unchecked emotions surging forward. 'Don't you –'  
  
Malfoy put up a hand to stop him, half a smirk on his face, obviously finding Harry's defense amusing. 'I'm not saying anything against the barmy old fool,' he said steadily, and the amusement was even more evident in his voice. 'Just stating the obvious. He's losing his touch.'  
  
Harry wanted to reply with a scathing remark worthy of Malfoy himself, but found he couldn't think of one. That worried him slightly - having trouble thinking of what to say in defense of Dumbledore. Instead he kept quiet, already feeling his anger abate.  
  
They were silent for a few moments. Malfoy seemed to have said all he was willing to in regards to his 'Barmy old fool' of a headmaster, and was now studying the hem of his robes.  
  
Harry watched him, not really knowing why, and therefore witnessed him wince and grimace as he attempted to scratch at the skin through the gauze on his cheek. Harry had to admit that the burn must be stinging him and, due to Harry's own experience, he knew that it would be tingling uncomfortably throughout the healing process. Harry had seen Malfoy get the injury, although why he had subjected himself to it when he had had no real need to was a mystery to him. Malfoy had been completely uninjured up until the point he had decided to push Lupin out of the way of the oncoming curse. It could have been worse, Harry supposed. If Malfoy hadn't have fallen on top of Lupin the streak of red light would have hit him square on, rather than grazing the side of his face.  
  
'Is that going to scar?' Harry asked, hoping he didn't sound offensive, and then wondering why he should care if he did.  
  
Malfoy looked at him for a long moment before sitting back comfortably, smirking. 'Do you think I'd get the same treatment as you if it did?'  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, choosing not to rise to the bait. 'Have you seen Lupin?'  
  
Malfoy's eyes flickered down, as though he felt uncomfortable talking about what he had done on the battle field. Harry had no idea why he had saved Lupin, and he knew he wouldn't be getting any answers.  
  
'No,' said Malfoy. 'I'm sure he's around somewhere, though.'  
  
Malfoy pushed his hair out of his eyes and at the same time his sleeve slipped down, revealing the Dark Mark. Harry had always thought it was such an ugly thing, and it looked particularly repulsive against Malfoy's pale, flawless skin. Strangely enough, whenever Harry had seen Snape's Mark he had never thought it looked out of place.  
  
Malfoy had seen Harry look at it, and he pushed his sleeve back down, rolling his eyes. 'You've seen it before.'  
  
'I know,' said Harry. He paused, wondering why he had never asked anyone this question before. 'Won't it disappear now?'  
  
Malfoy shrugged. 'It might. Nobody knows, do they? My father's just faded last time, but that was because the Dark Lord wasn't dead.' He paused to clear his throat, seemingly unconcerned. 'We'll see.'  
  
'Can't you call him by his name?' Harry asked, genuinely curious.  
  
Malfoy looked at him steadily and then said in a flat voice, 'I could count on one hand the amount of people who can.'  
  
'You always liked to be different, though.'  
  
Malfoy didn't say anything for a moment. He stared at the opposite wall, perhaps considering the merits of being one of the only people who could say Voldemort. Finally he said, 'He's dead now. There's no point.'  
  
'I suppose,' conceded Harry.  
  
It hadn't really hit Harry yet. _Voldemort was dead._ Of course he was, Harry had seen to it personally, but it was still a little difficult getting his head around it. The wizarding world had lived in constant hell for so long, and now it was gone. For the most part, anyway. Harry knew that some of the Death Eaters had escaped, but he presumed that they weren't foolish enough to stir up a wave of evil so soon after their master had fallen.  
  
Just as Harry was racking his brains for something else to say, the door opened and Hermione wandered in. She was looking much better than the last time Harry had seen her, earlier this evening. Her robes were still tatty and dirty, but her face was clean and healthier looking.  
  
She smiled gently at him, closing the door softly behind her and glancing briefly at Malfoy, a curious frown on her face.  
  
Malfoy didn't acknowledge her presence, instead choosing to stare at the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
'Just thought I'd check in,' Hermione said quietly, as if Harry had some sort of injury that would cause pain if she spoke too loudly.  
  
'How's Ron?' Harry asked.  
  
'Oh, he's fine,' said Hermione, waving a dismissive hand. 'A few bumps and bruises, but he was generally lucky. The important thing is how _you're_ feeling.'  
  
Malfoy snorted. Hermione glanced at him for an instant, but didn't say anything.  
  
'Well?' she said, looking back at Harry.  
  
Harry shrugged. 'Fine.'  
  
Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping. 'I know you're not. But ...'  
  
He offered her a weak smile. 'Really,' he said, 'I'm all right.'  
  
Her eyes flicked to Malfoy again and she said, 'Are you sure?'  
  
His smile was stronger this time. 'Yes, I'm sure.'  
  
Hermione raised a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. 'Well,' she said, 'I have to get back. How long are you planning on staying?'  
  
'A little while,' said Harry. 'I'll do the rounds later.'  
  
'Okay,' she said softly, giving his cheek a quick caress. She smiled and crossed to the door, opening it. 'Malfoy,' she said, looking down at him.  
  
He glanced up. 'Granger.'  
  
The door closed and there was a few moments silence in the room. Harry stared out of the window, trying not to think.  
  
'Any idea what the time is?' Malfoy asked.  
  
'Why? You have somewhere to be?' Harry asked, and then regretted it. Harry knew that Malfoy didn't, in fact, have anywhere to go. Malfoy didn't appreciate the tactless question, which he showed by the glare he threw at Harry.  
  
'So what happens now?' Harry asked, trying for a slight change of subject.  
  
'What do you mean?' Malfoy replied, a little harshly.  
  
'With you. What's going to happen to you now?'  
  
Malfoy frowned, and Harry had to admit that he was being nosy. 'Nothing's going to happen to me.'  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows skeptically. The way Harry saw it, Malfoy was in a very difficult situation. He had revealed his true loyalties tonight, and that had to mean repercussions of some kind, and in the world of Death Eaters, vengeance was deadly.  
  
'What are you going to –' Harry began, but just then the door opened again.  
  
Professor McGonagall's head peered around the door, eyes sweeping the room.  
  
'There you are,' she said, once she had spotted Malfoy. 'Come along, I need a word.'  
  
Malfoy sighed as if he was being interrupted doing something brilliant. He stood, shaking out his robes.  
  
'Hello, Mr Potter,' McGonagall said to him, smiling slightly.  
  
'Professor.'  
  
She opened the door a little wider in order to see Harry better, and she quickly scanned him from head to foot. 'How are you feeling?'  
  
'Fine,' said Harry, almost truthfully.  
  
She nodded, more to her self than to Harry, and said, 'Let the Healers know if you need anything.'  
  
Harry mustered up a smile that wasn't quite genuine. 'I will.'  
  
She nodded at him again before turning back to Malfoy, her smile fading, her expression becoming impatient. 'Come on, Mr Malfoy. I haven't got all day,' she said, turning her back and striding out the room  
  
That was a bit rich, thought Harry, considering it was her that had been deviating. In a rare moment of agreement, Harry and Malfoy rolled their eyes at each other.  
  
Malfoy turned to leave. At the doorway he stopped, turning his head to see Harry. He gazed at him for a long moment before saying simply, 'Potter.'  
  
Harry nodded. 'Malfoy.'  
  
And with that, he closed the door softly behind him, leaving Harry to be once more swallowed up by the silence.


End file.
